I see your precious, broken heart.
I see the smile on your face when someone walks by with a tiny bundle of joy. I feel the tinge of pain as you force yourself to be happy at your friends’ baby showers. You genuinely love the people in your life. You ultimately are happy for them.
But you’re waiting for your turn. And it’s been a while now.
You have many children in your life. You nurture them with love. You nurture your friends and family with motherly love. It comes so natural to you. You cannot even begin to comprehend why, of all people, you suffer from infertility.
There was a time that you had come to peace with the war between your heart and your body. This was the day you got the news that you were chosen to parent a child. You spent every moment preparing. Buying all that you needed. Building a relationship with the birth mother. Hiring attorneys. Picking a name.
You stayed up late at night because it seemed surreal. It may not have been the way you planned to become a mother, but you were so happy. You couldn’t get a wink of sleep thinking about your baby and their future and how much you were going to love them forever.
You imagined the day you’d leave the hospital with your child. At last, what you wanted most in this world would be yours. All of the heartache, questions, and tears now made sense. This was the answer to the infinite amount of times that you asked God, “Why?” and you were walking into it.
And then came the day that you got the call, the text message, the email, the Facebook message, whatever it may be, that said you were not going to be a mother.
Being rejected hurts. But being rejected by motherhood is a different pain. Be it through adoption loss or other means of infant loss. Your own instincts keep your heart broken. You yearn so badly to have and hold a little angel of your own. Someone to love, and someone who will love and depend on you.
Birth mothers have the right to choose. And they should do what they feel is best when all is said and done, within reason. But you also have the right to be hurt when they take someone away from you. To know that a child that your heart was set on is out there being loved by someone else, hurts. To be told that something about you wasn’t sufficient is a hard pill to swallow.
It leaves you negotiating your worth with yourself. It’s an internal battle that few can understand. People around you ignorantly try to help you by telling you to “just adopt another baby” or “do foster care,” and they mean well. They just don’t get it. Children grown in the heart and not the belly are mourned in a different way.
They are present, looking up at the same stars as you some nights. They are thriving and surviving with a mother, once in your position. But she got the happy ending.
You won’t have their newborn pictures taken by your best friend who does photography. You won’t throw that ridiculous first birthday party that they won’t remember. You won’t take that first trip to Disneyland. And your loved ones attempt to comfort you by assuring you that you will. But you won’t. You may have those moments with another child, but they won’t come with the baby that grew in your heart. The baby you named for the first time. The baby you purchased things for and told everyone in your life about.
I would like to tell you that I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to find empathy, and you’re expected to just moved on. You don’t have to. Take your time.
In my own story, I opted to never desire motherhood again. Eventually, I believed myself. I made light of it with jokes and not a single friend saw through my facade. It worked for me. Years down the road, I met the loves of my life: my little cousins.
My cousin, their father, was diagnosed with cancer, and I got to spend so much time with them while he was in the hospital. Prior to that, I had been keeping them while he worked They rekindled my need to nurture. They quickly became my best friends. The little loves of my life.
They needed me because something much bigger than their little minds could comprehend was happening. Their world was crumbling and I got the pleasure of being stability to them. There were many things they did not understand, but they knew they were loved so much by their parents and myself.
They knew that I would keep them safe.
What they are too young to understand is that our bond is my personal safe haven. While I have provided them with food, a place to rest their heads, more sugar and toys than they need, and so much love, they gave a huge part of myself back.
I strongly stand by not wanting children of my own. But I also have vowed to love all children. To see them all as my own. To be the village that other mothers need.
Your journey may differ from mine. I’m positive that it will. The nature of the situation is unique in that manner. I wish you the best from the bottom of my heart.
I hope you find the strength to navigate through all that you feel. I hope your hard days find purpose. I wish many good days for you. I hope that you can hold babies without it hurting. I hope you start to feel in touch with yourself again. You did not deserve the pain you experienced. If it is your desire you try again, I hope you run towards that desire as fast as you can and relentlessly until you finally take that baby home.
Remember, it is more than okay for good intentions to not be good enough. You are not obligated to hear out the opinions of those who have never walked this road. This is your time to heal.
Whatever someday looks like to you beyond the pain, I hope it’s beautiful and prosperous. Nurture yourself back to where you need to be. Take care of your heart. You’re a natural. Pour that energy into your healing.